


Interlude: Moondragon

by BloodyMary, Shanxara



Series: Clan Mar-Vellous [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: F/F, We Are Bringing People Back From the Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMary/pseuds/BloodyMary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanxara/pseuds/Shanxara
Summary: You know how we mentioned that we're indulging ourselves and bringing characters back from the dead? Well, here's the story where Phyla-Vell comes back.++COMPLETE++ Continued in Interlude: Starfox.





	1. 'Cause your presence still lingers here/And it won't leave me alone

_Two months after the end of War with the Cancerverse_

 

Heather wakes in sweat. Again. The dreams are not going away. That she dreams of Phyla, that she can understand.

They were so close and losing her will not stop hurting for a long while. That she sees Phyla wandering around in the ruins of Sacrosanct, she can also understand that - this is where Martyr met her end and where they recovered her body.

What she cannot understand is that the dreams come with a desperate compulsion to return to Sacrosanct and find Phyla.

"She _is_ dead."

Saying it out loud changes nothing. 

After all, she had thought her lover dead before. Had believed to have seen her die. And it had all been an illusion.

But this time it isn’t.

 

* * *

 

She punches her pillow and then puts it over her head. Even when awake, the voice, the compulsion is getting more persistent.

Finally, she gives up on sleep and gets up.

The halls of Titan are silent, the monks still following their schedule.

If she were on Earth, she would go and get coffee. That she even considers this tells her how rattled she is.

On her restless prowl, she happens across a servant carrying a tea tray. There is a used cup on it, revealing to her she is not the only restless person on Titan.

Retracing the servant's footsteps leads her to Mentor's study. The Titan is looking out through a window that seemingly shows the bare and empty surface of the moon, but is just a screen offering any view a person might pick.

"Heather?" He turns to look at her and frowns when he notes she is wearing merely her nightshirt and no shoes.

Until this point, she did not notice that either. Well, luckily the monks insist on nightshirts...

"Mentor." She inclines her head. "I am sorry to disturb you."

He waves her apology away with an impatient gesture. "I am not doing anything of any import."

"I would ask your advice then, if you do not mind."

"Go on."

"I keep dreaming the same dream," Moondragon admits. "I see Phyla-vell, in the ruins of the world where she died. She is wandering, lost, and she calls for me to come and find her."

As she spells it out, the explanation seems as obvious to her as it is to the old Titan.

"Grief, child. You were close and you lost her. Your mind is not yet willing to accept this."

Heather flinches and nods. "I guess so." She looks away. Then her gaze is caught by which part of the surface the window shows and her eyes widen.

"But I'm not the only one." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself.

In the vista shown by the window, two sepulchral steles stand in the arid dust, one topped by a ringed planet made of the same red rock as Titan's surface, the other by a pale blue star shining faintly in the black of night.

The graves of Mar-vell and his son Genis-vell. 

"You could have put her here, too," Mentor says softly, not refuting her accusation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Morning comes only slowly. Too slowly for Heather, who – stung by Mentor’s admonition – can’t wait to leave Titan. What she wants to do, she isn’t clear on.

It was a great honour that the Kree offered to bury Phyla on Hala, given that Mar-vell is still subject to damnatio memoriae there. She thought it would be the right thing, bury her on her ancestral homeworld, thus enabling a homecoming of sorts for her father, too.

Now she is wondering if that was the right thing. Would her lover have wanted to be with her family? Would her family have wanted them to be there? Was that what the dream meant?

She shivers. It’s so rare that anybody in their line of work leaves anything to bury, or for that matter, stays dead. The problem usually does not come up.

She needs to talk to someone not involved in this, someone who can offer an impartial opinion. Someone who will keep his mouth shut.

  

* * *

 

 

Cosmo solemnly scratches his left ear with his hind paw. Then, he shakes his head, and stretches.

“Is private now,” he sends. “We can be talkink about important matters.”

Then he puts his muzzle on Heather's knees, and adds, “Be scratchink Cosmo.”

Heather gives him a critical look, and is met with the wet innocent puppy-dog stare of pleading. Still, there is no harm in this, and if he is itchy, he may not be able to give her good advice. She starts scratching the dog, who pants happily over her knee.

“You're drooling,” she observes drily.

“Gladiator is not complainink, when scratchink Cosmo,” he replies. “Is good for Majestor, is good for Moondragon.”

Heather sighs, before telling herself to stop stalling. She is a grown woman, a monk of Shao-lom and she will not bicker over a dog being a dog. This is not why she is here.

“I keep dreaming about Phy,” she says. “She's on Sacrosanct-- she's calling out to me, asking me to find her. Mentor said it's grief, and I... it might be. But he also said I didn't have to let her be buried on Hala. Do you think she'd have preferred to be on Titan? With her brother and father?”

Cosmo cocks his head to the right, as he thinks.

“Is complicated,” he answers. “Phyla was not havink home, when she died. Not on Titan, not on Knowhere, not on Hala. On Hala, she is hero. On Titan, she is daughter.” He turns his head, and looks at the door for a moment, before looking back at Heather. “Maybe dream is meanink that Moondragon should be goink to Sacrosanct to think.”

Heather closes her eyes, and wonders if this is the explanation. Is it just her sub consciousness? If so, it would wise to heed her own mind. Is it not her greatest strength? That and her self-awareness?

“You're right,” she says finally. “I should see the place she died at again.”


	2. When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

Dead worlds feel all alike; no matter if they have been dead for millennia or hours. The dust is alive with ghosts, and the unspoken voices scratch her mind like fingernails. There is sadness and rage and the regrets of so many lives unfulfilled.

But there is something else there. A little spark that cannot—should not—be there. Heather disembarks on shaky legs and looks at the desolate landscape. Surely, nothing could live here? No, it must be her imagination, or the strain of walking in the domain of wraiths and spectres.

She walks through the dust and ruins nevertheless, her mind turning inwards. She remembers the battle against Thanos, her fury and grief as fresh as back then.

She had loved Phyla, and he had killed her.

A sob escapes her, and another, and she barely notices when she falls to her knees.

She misses Phyla so terribly, and feels even more alone here, on the world where her love had died.

“Heather?”

The voice sounds distant, but oh so familiar, and she Heather's sobs grow harder.

“Heather!”

This time the voice sounds closer, and more breathless. The sound of feet hitting the ground as someone runs accompanies it, and Heather looks just in time to see a familiar figure in red and black fall to her knees before her.

She feels strong arms around her—though they feel thinner than they should be, and warm breath next to her ear, and hears, “You came!”

“Phy?” she manages. “You're- You were dead. We buried- We found your body, how-?”

She feels Phyla's lips on her cheek, and she turns her face to catch them with her own. It all feels so real, and when she reaches out with her mind, she feels the presence she knows so well.

They eventually pull away, breathless. Phyla looks thin, like she hadn't eaten in a long time. Where there had once been a glowing stripe, now there’s an angry red scar down the length of her face and neck. Her are clothes crumpled and dirty—clearly, there were no sources of clean water on Sacrosanct in which Phyla could wash herself.

“I don't know what happened,” Phyla says. “One moment Thanos burned me, and the world ended. And then I woke up again.”

Heather nods. “I guess we will find out eventually?” She reaches out with her powers, but she doesn’t find anything that isn’t supposed to be there. Phyla is Phyla, and nothing is tagging along within her. If there is anything wrong physically, she’ll find out later.

Phyla kisses her again, which makes concentrating a bit difficult, but Heather doesn't really mind all that much. The one person that means more than her life and her soul is back with her, and she is not letting her go ever again.

But eventually, her knees start to ache, and that brings her back to reality.

“We should go back to my ship,” she says. “It's more comfortable than this.”

“That would be the smart thing to do,” Phyla replies, but she starts to slowly get up. Heather is back on her legs faster, and holds her hand out to help her lover back on her feet.

  

* * *

 

 

Pragmatism eventually wins over romance, and Phyla's first steps on the ship are directed towards the bathroom. Heather prepares nutrient paste, because she doubts Phyla can eat anything else at this point (and she didn't really think about taking anything more extravagant).

Clean, with damp strands of silver hair sliding into her eyes, Phyla doesn't look all that much better than before. They end up curled up against each other, while Phyla eats and tries not to poke her now bony elbows into Heather's stomach. She definitely needs to do a more thorough physical check-up on Phy than the equipment on her ship allows.

“Do you want to call your mother, before we go back to Titan?” Heather eventually asks.

“No,” Phyla replies, putting down the bowl. “I don't and I don't want to go to Titan either.”

Heather uncurls herself to look at Phyla. She studies her determined expression, and sees that the decision is not a new one.

“There's nothing there for me,” Phyla says softly. “Mother will only berate me for dying, Mentor will scoff because I'm distracting you. Do I need to go back to the grave of a father I never knew and a brother I failed? I already said my goodbyes. Titan is a world of ghosts and ashes, and I've had my fill of those.”

Heather falls silent. She had not thought about her adopted world like that – it was a tranquil sanctuary to return to after the galaxy had burst into flames again and again, and yet...

She thinks of Mentor, and sees him in her mind's eye—an old man looking at the grave of Mar-Vell. A father to a monster and a son who never cared to reach his full potential—a father who loved a mortal man like a son, and saw him die slowly and painfully.

There are ghosts on Titan—they are simply not her ghosts.

“Would you prefer Knowhere?” she asks. “Cosmo will be happy you're alive.”

“What about the other Guardians?” Phyla replies.

Heather falls silent, and looks away. “There are no Guardians anymore.” The words feel like ashes on her tongue. “Peter died—he stayed behind to keep Thanos from coming back to our dimension. Without him, there was no one to hold the others together.”

“Oh,” Phyla says. “What about your father?”

Heather closes her eyes, and wraps her arms around herself. “He's dead too. Thanos killed him.”

Phyla hugs her, her nose inches away from Heather's cheek.

“Let's go to Knowhere,” she says quietly, her breath warm against Heather's skin. “We can decide what we want to do next there.”

  

* * *

 

 

They don't leave immediately—Phyla is weak, and needs to gather some strength. The ghosts of Sacrosanct are nothing but a murmur, now that they are together again. For the first few days, they do nothing but simply enjoy each other's company, like they had not done in so long ago.

But the harmony is built on a shaky foundation, and Heather eventually says, “I understand that you do not want to go back to Titan—but do you truly think your mother shouldn't know you are alive?”

“She can create another child, if she feels like it,” Phyla snorts. “Maybe this time she will get it right.”

Heather looks at Phyla sternly. “This is not the person you are, Phyla. Even if your mother is not... ideal, she does not deserve such cruelty from you.”

Phyla shakes her head. “I am not going to be cruel.” Her voice breaks. “I know what is cruel, Heather. If I were... I were, I'd...”

She shakes her head and sits down abruptly, and hides her face in her hands.

“Phy, I'm sorry,” Heather says, putting her hand on Phyla's back. “But-”

“I'm not brave enough for that,” Phyla says quietly. “I wasn't brave enough to think about the things I used to parrot after her, or to tell anyone about it later, when I realized what I had said. And now, I'm not brave enough to face her again. I am not even brave enough to tell you about it.”

“Phy?” Heather asks. “What are you talking about?”

She doesn't get an answer—Phyla just sits there, her shoulders shaking silently.

“Phy?” she repeats. It's unexpected, and Heather does not like being caught unaware. She does not like when it turns out there are matters that slipped her attention, and she very much does not like when people make Phyla cry. “That's not what I meant—if you don't feel ready to talk with Elysius just yet, we can wait.”

“I don't want to see her ever again,” Phyla replies.

Heather knows that sometimes one has to face one's fears to find peace. She also knows that one has to face them when one has a chance of winning against them, and right now, Phyla does not believe she can. She doesn't have to read her mind—not that she'd ever do it without permission—she sees it in her posture and hears it in her voice.

She leans against Phyla's back and wraps her arms around her. “It's all right,” she whispers. “It's all right.”

  

* * *

 

 

Heather does not want to go explicitly against Phyla's wishes, but she can't just disappear from the face of the cosmos like that. Mentor at least needs to know she did not end up getting herself eaten by a giant space monster, or had changed into a dragon.

And she knows that once she calls, she will not be able to keep the old man from telling she is lying. No, that would be entirely pointless, as would be attempting to obfuscate the truth.

“I found Phyla,” she says once she sees the age-worn features of the man who raised her on the screen. Mentor's expression shows concern, and Heather waves it away. “She's alive. I think it's an after-effect of death being not present in the alternative dimension. Sacroscanct was close enough for certain laws to stop functioning for some time.”

“Are you certain it is her?” Mentor asks, the concern in his voice and expression not fading.

“Yes,” Heather replies. “I am not naive—I know what to look for.”

“Then I will inform Elysius-”

Heather holds out her hand to stop the old man from finishing the sentence. “We will not be coming back to Titan yet. Phyla needs time to think about things, and she needs me with her. She does not want her mother to know that she is alive.”

Mentor studies her expression. “And you agree with this decision?” 

“It is not my choice to make,” Heather says calmly. “My choice is to love her and support her, and this is what I shall do.”

Mentor nods. Heather can see the disapproving lines around his mouth deepen. “Then I will trust your better judgement.” He hesitates. “Be careful, please. For the both of you.”

The screen fades, and Heather watches it in silence. Her thoughts go back to the planet-topped stele on Titan, and to the man buried beneath it. Something had died in Mentor on the day Mar-Vell had finally succumbed. Something he never got back, and she wonders if loving her keeps reminding him of it.

“I’m sorry.”


	3. Just tryin' to make his way home / Like back up to heaven all alone

Heather’s ship is equipped with a medbay, and she is quite skilled when it came to medicine. Nevertheless, Phyla’s biology is somewhat exotic, taking some things from the Kree and others from Eternals, and it sometimes results in idiosyncrasies that Heather simply needs a second opinion for.

And so, Phyla is subjected to another round of examinations as soon as they reached Knowhere. Fortunately nothing untoward is found, and she declines any offers of removing the scar on her face, probably to Heather’s exasperation. But then she is finally allowed to leave and greet Cosmo, who has been waiting for her outside the medbay.

When the door slides open, the sight that greets Phyla, is that of Cosmo in the pose known as “men's best friend with his nose lying on his butt”. He uncurls as soon as they join him, and bounds towards Phyla in a few leaps.

He sniffs at her hand, and she feels his mind do the same to her thoughts. Then, he sits down, and cocks his head to the side.

“Phyla-vell was beink alive?” he sends.

“Yes,” Heather replies, her fingers laced with Phyla's.

“Cosmo is sorry for not findink her,” he answers.

“I... don't mind,” Phyla says. “I don't actually want people to know I'm alive. It's...” She tries to think of a way to explain what she feels best. “I have not been any good as Captain Marvel, and I've not been much better as Quasar, and as Martyr I only caused more trouble than I was worth. And then I died. I think it's time I took a hint and stopped trying to become someone I can never be.

“I need time to figure out who I am,” she continues. “And I don't want trouble finding me before I know this.”

Cosmo gets up and licks her free hand. “And Phyla-vell will be lookink for place to be thinkink.”

Phyla smiles. “Don't worry, it won't be Knowhere.”

“Cosmo was not beink worried,” Cosmo answers. “But Cosmo is thinkink that there is someone Phyla-vell needs to be seeink, before disappearink.”

Phyla gives him an uncertain look. She hopes he doesn't mean her mother, but then why would he?

“Quasar is goink to be happy that Phyla-vell is beink alive,” Cosmo continues.

  

* * *

 

 

“Phyla!” Wendell cries and pulls her into a hug as soon as he is inside Cosmo's room. Phyla only manages to catch a glimpse of an armoured figure, before her view is completely obscured by Quasar's shoulder.

“You do not greet me that enthusiastically,” an amused feminine voice comments. There's a synthesized undertone to it, like it's not coming from an actual mouth.

“You didn't come back from the dead, Ikon,” Wendell replies, as he steps away from Phyla. He is still grinning widely at her. “This is Phyla-vell.”

“Like the Kree captain?” the armoured woman asks, and extends her hand. “I am Ikon. Gladorian knight and Wendell's space girlfriend.”

“Somebody needs to give Spider-man a ban on quips,” Wendell moans.

“Like the Kree captain,” Phyla replies and shakes the cold metallic hand. “I am Heather's all-the-time girlfriend.”

“Ronan and Beta Ray Bill keep encouraging her,” Wendell adds with a sigh.

“Oh, I don't need the encouragement from a Kree who walks into walls when he sees his wife's ankle,” Ikon replies smugly. “In fact, if you'd let me show you the secrets of my armour, you could give him advice.”

Heather starts pretending to have a coughing fit.

“Ronan is perfectly capable of taking off his armour,” Wendell sighs, as he slides his hand over his face. “And he's a-a lawyer, he can probably research, in the event that during his long life he'd never managed to find out about sex.”

By that point, Phyla decides that Ikon is rather obnoxious. “That's enough,” she says. “Just because you're a woman, it doesn't mean you get a free pass on being an asshole and harassing others.”

Ikon looks at her, and her synthetic voice sounds genuinely confused when she replies, “He's Quasar. He is more powerful than I am—if my comments make him truly uncomfortable, he could easily make me regret making them.”

“Were you brought up by a robot rock tapeworm?” Phyla groans.

“Thank you, Phyla,” Wendell says. “I probably should have told her that on my own, but I might be...”

“Too polite?” Phyla says, while glancing at Heather, who is looking rather embarrassed.

“I suppose,” he replies. “It's not that I am feeling harassed, but someone else might.”

Ikon stands still for a while, and then sighs heavily. “I think I'm too used to everyone being forever stuck in armour and everyone being eternally sexually frustrated.”

When Quasar stares, she adds: “Didn’t anybody ever tell you? We can’t take it off. When we don it, they cut away so much of our flesh bodies that pretty much nothing is left. I was just teasing you, because your reactions were amusing.” She nods to Phyla. “And the Kree girl is right, this was thoughtless of me. I apologise.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Phyla is still upset. Even after they had say goodbye to Quasar and Cosmo and return to the ship, Moondragon can see that the young woman was full of nervous energy. Even Heather’s desperate attempt at cooking macaroni and cheese (she had learned of Phyla’s attempt to cook this for her father…) fail to cheer her up.

Phyla is like a coiled spring waiting to lash out at the first thing that set her off. So addressing the odd conversation with Ikon is right out. If she causes Phyla to blow up at her, it will only make her lover feel bad afterwards. That will solve nothing.

So Heather suggests a shower.

That works, sort of. Under the hot water, Phyla finally relaxes somewhat… until Moondragon notes that not all of the hot water droplets on the other woman’s face Are water.

“Phyla… What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

Phyla shakes her head. “No. You didn’t.” Heather wraps her arms around her and rubs her back in a soothing manner, but it fails to disperse the nervous tension that is obvious in the feel of the Kree’s coiled muscles.

“Talk to me. Please. I want to help.”

But Phyla just shakes her head. “I love you. I love you.”

“I know. And I love you. But Phy, baby, you can talk to me. I love you. Nothing will ever change that.”

For a long while, Heather thinks her words have fallen on deaf ears, when Phyla finally speaks.

“She’s me.” And after a moment, Phyla continues, sobbing. “Ikon. She’s me. Saying stupid things and not realising how much they can hurt, just because everyone else did and she thought it was nothing.”

“Shhhh.” Heather makes soothing noises. For a moment she considers getting to the bottom of this, but she senses Phyla was not ready or willing to talk about it and forcing the subject would not achieve anything. Although she wonders. The other woman is usually kind and thoughtful, if sometimes a bit quick of temper – she doesn’t strike her as the person to make off colour jokes or harass someone. 

So, what could it be? While she wants to be convinced that it can’t be even remotely as bad as Phyla seems to think it was – and certainly not even remotely as bad as Heather’s various sins – some twitch of foresight makes her doubt this judgement.

 

* * *

 

It takes a lot of Phyla's courage to ask Wendell to talk with her, but she needs to finally tell someone. She can't tell Heather—not yet, maybe not ever. Wendell does not know Genis, so... so he can be impartial.

“I... didn't tell anyone about this,” she says, and swallows. “It's about my brother.”

Wendell nods, his expression puzzled.

“When I was Quasar, and the bands were running out of power, there were moments when I'd lose myself,” she says softly. “And it made me wonder, if... if that was how he felt when he came to Titan.”

She takes a deeper breath, and continues. “I said horrible things to him. I told him he wasn't worth anything, that he was a disappointment, and-... I didn't want him to get better. I wanted to show everyone that I wasn’t a failure like him, and now he's dead, and I can't ever make up for it.”

Wendell studies her and then says, “I don't know what to tell you Phyla.”

She shakes her head. “I'm sorry. I just... I hated him. I hated him, because he got to be immature, and make mistakes, and I had to be the perfect one, and it didn't even occur to me that... that it wasn't true until it was too late.”

Wendell doesn't reply immediately. He's silent for some time, his expression thoughtful. “You can't make it up to your brother, true. But that doesn't mean you cannot learn from it and become a better person—you are already on the right track. You know what you did wrong, and why it was wrong.”

Phyla looks at her feet. “I should have known it was wrong then—I knew hurting a stranger would be wrong. I knew that if a father strikes his daughter, it's bad. But I... I helped my mother break Genis, and I didn't think for one moment that it was the same thing. I was just glad I'm not in his place.”

Now, Wendell frowns, though his expression is concerned. Then, he pulls her into a hug, and Phyla stands still, until her brain reminds her she's supposed to hug back. 

 

* * *

 

 

She and Wendell don’t talk about it anymore. She asks him about what happened when she was gone, and about what he intends to do, and finally wishes him good luck. He wishes her the same, and hugs her before leaving.

All of this helps—she knows that she has learned and that there are places she will not go to again. She has failed, yes, but it was neither the first nor the last time.

She has failed, because she has not known any better.

She has failed, because she was walking the path set by her mother.

Now she knows that she needs to find her own way. Only if she knows what it is that she wants and who she is will she be able to know where she is headed.

She knows who she is not—she isn't Captain Marvel, and she isn't Quasar.

Martyr... Martyr is still part of her, but it's the angry lost part.

She looks into the mirror, and runs her fingers against the scar on her face. Even now, when it's neither glowing gold, nor silver, she will bear it, so that she does not forget. She will remember where she has come from, so that she one day may know where she is headed.


	4. There is still a light that shines on me / Shine on until tomorrow, let it be

Heather isn’t sure that whatever had been troubling Phyla is dealt with, but she does sense the other woman found some sort of peace, so she decides to leave well enough alone. If the problem resurfaces, she could always tell Phy about some of her sins. There are certainly enough of them. Yes, there was the influence of the Dragon of the Moon, but she never resisted all that hard.

She watches Phyla bustle around in the main compartment of her ship, arranging clothing in heaps. Since her things have been given away Heather offered her a choice of her wardrobe.

At least, stuff that can be cut down to fit, since she is shorter and slighter than Moondragon. She also has a very different taste.

Right now, the heaps are tagged “Stuff I would not be seen dead in”, “Stuff I will wear if hell freezes over” and “Stuff I could wear if there was an invasion of cloth eating alien space moths”.

That doesn’t mean she has not been trying on things.

At one point, she critically admired herself in the mirror wearing Heather’s old costume. Or rather, holding it sort of near her body.

“I can’t believe you actually wear this thing. What do you do? Keep it on telekinetically?”

Heather laughs. “I have nothing to hide? It was a different time? I never learned taste?”

“Not convincing.” Phyla is attempting to mould the top to her considerably smaller chest area. “You breathe through your … bust?”

Heather giggles, and after a moment suggests, “Using my considerable powers generates a lot of heat and I have to release it somehow.”

That makes Phyla laugh, and it takes her a few minutes to calm down. “And pants hate you and threaten to eat your legs?”

Heather sniffs haughtily. “Please, why would I deprive the universe of the opportunity to bask in such perfection?”

She extends her leg forward for Phyla to admire. Phyla giggles, and critically examines a more conservative set of clothes.

“I think we will need to go shopping,” she says.

Heather nods. “I can just take your measurements, and look for something.”

At this point, Phyla lifts a sort of dress consisting of three straps and a buckle and vehemently shakes her head. “No way.”

  

* * *

 

 

They do leave Knowhere eventually, though Phyla promises to visit Cosmo in the future. It’s probably not the order in which it should be done, but it's only then that they start discussing where they should go.

Heather suggests one of the holiday resort worlds that miraculously did not get eaten by the Annihilation Wave, Galactus or any other planet-devouring space monstrosity. Phyla spends the next fifteen seconds wrapping her mind around the concept.

Then, she shrugs. “Sure, why not. I never had a holiday before, so why not start now?”

Nobody said that she has to figure out herself in a chilly monastery, while sleeping on straw, did they?

Heather looks smug, as they plot the course and leave Knowhere behind. 

 

* * *

 

It only occurs to Phyla later that the owner of one of the resorts had greeted Heather awful warmly, once she finds a picture of her girlfriend in her green un-clothes standing next to what looks like a pile of pink fluffy balls.

When asked, Heather coughs, and explains she had at one point helped to stop a migration of some kind of space locust. Which is pink and fluffy, and ever since then, she can stay in the resort for free.

“I don't use this too often, but I thought it might be a good idea now,” she says. “I completely forgot about the picture.”

Phyla starts giggling. “I'm sure they were very menacing.”

“Well, they split whenever you hit them, so you'd end up drowning in them if you weren't smart about getting rid of them,” Heather replies somewhat defensively.

Phyla cuddles to her, and coos, “My cunning heroine.”

Heather sighs. “Wait till you have to fight something embarrassing. It happens to everyone.”

“What? Even Galactus?” Phyla asks.

“Earth is Galactus's something embarrassing,” Heather says. “That one was easy.” 

Phyla thinks hard looking for the next possible person. It is not that easy, since a number of people she thinks of are actually fairly easy to imagine facing something cute and fluffy, or something that shouldn't threaten them by any means.

 

* * *

 

 

Soon, they are lying on a beach covered in snow white sand. The air is cooled by a slight breeze and the sunlight warms them right down to their bones. Fortunately, they are alone at the moment, because Heather is taking full advantage of this being a nude beach.

After a while, Phyla gives in, too and removes her swimsuit.

“I can’t understand how some people can fight in stuff like that. One kick, and everything pops out.”

Heather purrs like a lazy cat. “Is that so baaaad?”

Phyla slaps her bare backside. “Plenty bad. I don’t want everyone and their grandmother to look at you.” She chuckles. “Especially the grandmother.”

“So jealous.”

“Not jealous. Merely greedy.”  She finally uncurls and allows the rays of the purple sun to fall on her stomach. Slowly, something inside her relaxes and she makes a purring sound, too. “I think I’m falling asleep.”

“Then sleep. After all, we came here to be lazy.” Heather murmurs.

It isn’t merely warm and pleasant. Phyla is soaking up the sun like a parched ground soaks up water, after so long in space and in darkness. She feels like a thirst is being stilled she didn’t know she had, so as she drifts off to sleep she doesn’t dream.

  

* * *

 

 

Amazingly, nothing much happens for weeks. There are no invasions, no calls from long-forgotten friends and visits of equally long-forgotten enemies. Heather and Phyla actually have time to rest, and enjoy the idyllic planet each in their own ways.

At one point, Heather learns that her father is alive, and they make an effort to contact him. The conversation is awkward and strange, and Heather remains morose for a few days, before finding her equanimity again.

They learn of the Phoenix—everyone watches it come to Earth, and fade from existence there, but it passes them by completely. The Builders War does not. The Builders sweep through all like a storm of destruction—demanding fealty and dealing death when none is given.

There are greater battles fought, and perhaps they should have been there. But in the end, when all the others are fighting armies, someone has to make sure that the small worlds of no import to the cosmic players are not collateral damage.

But in the end, the storm passes as well. The universe remains in one piece, and moves on towards the next time the heavens and earths will shake.

And the next time it happens, Phyla will be still there, and she will fight again.

Not because she wants to live up to a legacy of a man she had never known, no matter how extraordinary and kind he had been in life.

Not because she wishes to be worthy of a pair of metal bracelets, no matter what power they carry. 

Not because she has made a deal she will regret.

She is part of the universe—a very small one, but still gifted with power to protect other small bits of the whole that cannot do that on their own.


	5. There will be an answer, let it be

When the dreams start, she first doesn’t take them serious. She has been through enough to keep a whole anthology of nightmares in her head, and it is easy to ignore that these are different.

She is buried in the dark. But it is not suffocating or frightening. She feels at peace, at rest. She is wrapped in something soft and fragrant, like one of Heather’s dresses. It is a comforting feeling, but she knows it will end.

As far as nightmares go, it’s about minus two on a scale of ten. But it is persistent. And after a few times, she sees faint light shimmer above her, just a few tiny dots like distant stars at first. But there are more soon, and they grow brighter, revealing themselves as rays of sunlight, slanting through her cover. With the fading darkness, a sense of urgency begins to grow in her.

About three weeks after the first dream, she finds herself packing her things.

“Phy, what is it? Do you want to leave?”

Phyla looks down at her hands, folding a shirt. “What the flark am I doing?” 

 

* * *

 

 

The dreams persist, and Phyla eventually decides that something needs to be done. Clearly, something is going on. Part of her is worrying that her sanity is going, but she quickly tells herself not be irrational. It's a persistent dream, and a sense of urgency—she's not talking with people who are not there, or lying catatonic somewhere.

So, she does the logical, sane thing. She tells Heather about the dreams, and asks her to help locate whatever it is that she is so drawn to.

That is followed by a session of meditating, while Heather sits in front of her, with her hands placed over Phyla's. Her mental touch is subtle, something she can barely perceive. It actually would be quite relaxing, if she weren't supposed to focus on the insubstantial pull she is feeling.

Finally, Heather says, “Enough.”

Phyla opens her eyes and looks at her expectantly.

Heather looks back, pensive. “I'm still not certain what it is that you sense,” she says. “But it's in the Kree galaxy.”

Phyla is nonplussed. “Do you think we should go there?”

Heather falls silent, as she thinks over the answer. “Perhaps we should. It could be something innocent, or it could be Kree proving to the universe at large yet again they all secretly want to blow themselves up.” She pauses, “Well, perhaps, save your father.”

“Who is dead, and does not count,” Phyla finishes with a shrug. 

 

* * *

 

 

Getting into Kree territory has never been an impossible feat, barring the Phalanx invasion. There is simply no way to make a whole galaxy impervious to being snuck into, and even if one gets in legally, there are ways of disguising one's identity. Phyla does not want to advertise the fact that she is alive still, and Heather is happy to take over.

Phyla is now an apprentice priestess, her head shaved and her face carefully made-up so that it appears that she has two more scars. In a loose robe, she does not look like herself all that much.

“We could paint you blue,” Heather says, as she inspects her.

“You're the one who acts like nobility,” Phyla replies, shaking her head.

“Not all blue Kree are nobility,” Heather answers, as she looks at her make-up kit with a thoughtful expression. “I think your father mentioned once that some relative of his was blue. An uncle?” She falls silent for another moment, before saying, “I think it was some male relative.”

Phyla gives her a startled look. “It... never actually occurred to me he had a family. I mean, blood family, who are Kree.”

Heather gives her one of those odd looks, where Phyla cannot tell what she is thinking at all. “The Supreme Intelligence declared him traitor to the Kree. They likely considered, and still consider, that the best idea is not to advertise the fact they're from the same family as him. Or they died.”

“But I never had any problems over being his daughter,” Phyla says frowning.

Heather sighs. “I'm not an expert on Kree, and my main source of information tended to clam up about a lot of things,” she says. “But I guess even the Kree have a soft spot for people who save them from mind-controlling robots.” She thinks for a moment. “And you had not met the actual extremists—I think they still called themselves the Lunatic Legion, when I last heard of them. They didn't recognize pink Kree even as Kree of a worse category.”

“And you want me to pretend to be blue to avoid any trouble, in case they recognize me as Kree?” Phyla guesses.

Heather nods. “You can still pretend to be my apprentice. I'm quite sure blue Kree also have periods where they seek enlightenment in odd places.”

Phyla pouts at her. “I'm sure I can manage, mistress,” she says trying to look as meek as possible. “Shall I fetch you some tea, mistress, while you reveal more secrets about the nature of young people? Or perhaps massage your venerable feet?”

Heather sniffs haughtily, and leans forward to brush Phyla's cheek with the tips of her fingers. “My, what an eager apprentice I have. Whatever shall I do with you?”

Phyla bats her eyelashes innocently. “I'm sure you can think of something exciting, oh wise one.”

Heather grins. “Oh, I can think of a lot of things.”

Then, she leans towards Phyla and kisses her, before she can think of an answer. 

 

* * *

 

 

The Kree are yet again recovering.

They land on one of the border worlds to get some supplies and see first-hand that the Builders has not been kind. There are buildings being rebuilt, and some are still ruined. As they look for a shop, Phyla spots a group of children of varying ages, following two adults in official clothes. They look subdued, and when she looks at Heather quizzically, her lover shakes her head.

“They're orphans,” she explains. “And those people will transport them to a facility, where they will be taken care of. The Empire will provide them with education, and most of them will end up in one branch of the military or another.”

Phyla is not certain what to think of it, but the group is out of sight by now, and they find the shop they are looking for. The building it's in is one of the lucky undamaged ones—the part of the city it's in seems to have not seen as much fighting, and there are people inside buying their own food.

Heather marches in regally, and Phyla does her best to look aloof. They draw several looks—some disinterested, some disapproving. A little girl seems to recognize Heather, and she gives her an impressed look.

Phyla resists the urge to smile at her, and studies the wares with a bored expression, while Heather makes their purchases. Nobody seems to think Phyla is not who she appears to be, and nobody tries to talk with her.

Eventually, they leave and head back to the ship.

As they pass the many construction sites, Phyla wonders how long her father's people will be able to pick themselves up after one disaster after another.

Eventually, the Empire might just crumble, but for now, it seems to be still standing. 

 

* * *

 

 

The pull grows stronger, as they travel, though it still feels... well, tame. She doesn't know how else to describe it—there is some sense of urgency, but it's not violent at all. Just stronger, as if a child that had been pulling on her cloak suddenly became an adolescent.

She tries to describe it to Heather, but isn't sure if she's making any sense at all.

“Like walking along the yellow brick road,” Heather says. When Phyla gives her puzzled looks, she adds, “It's from a movie I watched as a child.”

“Well, it's nice to know that whoever is giving me a compulsion is making sure it feels nice,” Phyla says.

Heather shakes her head, “Either we're dealing with someone very polite, or someone who is trying very hard to make us feel safe.”

“I think if they were really polite, they'd just send a message?” Phyla says. “Well, unless they can't. But I'd be a lot more urgent if I were trapped.”

Heather nods. “We will eventually find out what this is about. Possibly, before we meet whatever is beckoning you.”

But whatever it is that Phyla sense remains elusive. She tries to find things to do—she practices with a practise sword, and starts reading some of Heather's books, but the dream keeps coming back every night.

“I'm coming for you,” she says as she wakes up in the middle of the night. “Whatever or whoever you are, I really am. There's no need to be annoyingly persistent.”

She curls up next to Heather again, and once she falls asleep again, she dreams the same dream yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three guesses who is calling Phyla, first two don't count.


	6. And in my hour of darkness / She is standing right in front of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun~

They eventually reach a world that should be desolate according to all Kree databases. Except, it's not. Not all of it—there's a patch of lush trees and, as they remain in orbit, it continues growing day by day. Heather activates the ship's scanners and then sits for a whole hour as she tries to find anything sentient that might be behind this.

The scanners pick up some sort of an anomaly in the centre of the small forest.

“The forest is conscious,” Heather says, as she opens her eyes. “And calling to you.”

That at least is something, and likely means Phyla will finally have some answers. Though Heather does not sense any ill intentions, they still prepare, just in case, and make sure that the ship lands away from the forest.

At first, when they enter it's eerily silent, almost like some sort of an abandoned temple. It is not an entirely unfamiliar feeling, and Phyla is not at all surprised when she sees a face of wood gaze at her solemnly.

She stops in front of it, and asks the question that has been nagging at her for some time: “What are you trying to tell me?”

Just like the last time, she doesn't truly hear the cotati speak—the words form in her mind.

+You are needed,+ they tell her.

“What do you need me for?” she asks, trying very hard not to sound frustrated. The dreams have made it clear that they need her, but left her with no answer as to what.

+We do not need you,+ the cotati answers. +He does.+

“He? Who's he?” Phyla asks and this time she doesn't care that she sounds frustrated. “One of your priests? Is he wounded?”

+No,+ the cotati answers. +Forgive me—I am but a sapling and your mind is different from mine—I am not sure how to express myself to be understood.+ They pause, and though the wooden face shows no feelings, Phyla guesses they are trying to gather their thoughts. +He is the catalyst of our growth, and for that we are grateful—we want to help him, but we cannot offer much. That is why we called out to you—you are his... seed?+

Phyla stands there, completely nonplussed. It almost sounds like the cotati is speaking about her father, but he is dead, and his body is buried on Titan. But then, they said that they are young and have trouble adjusting their communication to the way she thinks. Perhaps the person is some other male ancestor? Someone whose DNA was used to created her mother, or her paternal grandfather?

She looks at Heather, who looks about as confused as Phyla, and since she finds no explanation there, she can only see one course of action available to her.

“Where is he?” she asks.

+Go to the centre,+ the cotati replies. +He will awaken soon.+

“Thank you,” Phyla says, and beacons at Heather to follow. Together, the pass under the silent gazes of the cotati, fallen leaves crunching under their feet. Other than the silent rustling and their footfalls there are no sounds, and yet Phyla feels a sense of expectation that almost makes her hold her own breath. Without conscious thought she starts running, the silent faces brown faces blurring with the green leaves, until she reaches a clearing.

She stops.

In the centre, there is a mound overgrown with some sort of vines, all of them in full flower. It looks like the universe itself tried to express reverence to whoever it is covering. And it is covering someone, she just knows. It's about the same size a Kree or an Eternal would be, and Phyla approaches it as if it's a wild animal ready to bite. With shaking hands, she kneels down and pulls the vines away to expose the head.

And freezes.

The face is slack, the skin deathly pale, the mask is green instead of black and she only knows the features from old recordings and pictures, but she recognizes them nonetheless. It's her father, whose body should be on Titan.

“Is that really him?” she asks Heather, who stands behind her, and looks just as tense. Moondragon shrugs.

“It's a dead body,” her lover answers. “I can't tell if it's a clone, or the real Mar-vell, but he looks too... intact. He has been dead for over ten years.”

Carefully, Phyla touches the... person's cheek. It's cold, but to her surprise it starts growing warmer. She pulls her hand away as if burned, and watches the man's eyelids flutter, and his chest rise. Then, his eyes open, and they're the same shade of blue as Phyla's.

He looks at her, unseeing, for a moment, then his skin becomes dark, like the void between the stars. Small shimmering lights dance over his form, and suddenly, she can see the resemblance to Genis.

“Mar-vell..?” Heather gasps behind her. “It's you, but how?”

Phyla feels her lover tense - and then there is a blinding flash of light, a silent explosion of air and she is pushed aside. She lands on her backside and rolls over twice, landing on her stomach. She jumps up, reacting purely on instinct, to see her father hover in the air, cocooned in light, his fists glowing.

Heather has been tossed through the undergrowth, but is already up hands raised – in surrender or defensively? 

“Stay out of my head, Moondragon,” Mar-vell growls. The photonic energy around him flares brightly, much brighter than around her brother or herself. “Stay out of my mind.”

Heather wipes her face and smears the blood from some shallow grazes. “I'm sorry,” she says, and sounds like she really means it. “I had to make sure somehow.”

They watch one another for a moment, and slowly, Mar-vell backs down, his aura dims and he lands in the clearing. He shakes his head to clear it and stumbles, dropping down on his knees.

Phyla runs to Heather, but she waves her off. “Necessary risks.” They both approach the kneeling warrior, who seems winded by his outburst. When they stand before him, he looks up.

“Phyla”, he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Phyla stares at him. Looks into blue eyes that are familiar, and suddenly remind her of different blue eyes. And she can’t stand it anymore. 

 

* * *

 

 

Even Heather is startled when Phyla suddenly turns and runs away. Frantic, panicking. For a moment she is torn between running after her lover and helping Mar-vell. But as she carefully reaches for Phyla’s mind, she is pushed out. “Leave me alone!”

So she puts Mar-vell’s arm over her shoulder and helps him up. “I don’t know what got into her.”

“I can guess,” Mar-vell says, his voice hard. Heather does recall him sounding like that only several times, and it's never a good sign.

“I will-” she starts to say, but he interrupts her.

“I'm not angry with Phyla,” he says. “Phyla may feel bad, but she is not responsible for what happened—and it's not for me to tell you what it is.”

“How is that you apparently know more than I do about what is troubling her then I do, despite being dead for years and only having met her today?” Heather asks irritably. It's singularly unfair.

“Because I've always been better in finding out things I will hate,” Mar-vell replies. 

 

* * *

 

 

Phyla eventually stumbles over a root. She manages to steady herself and not to fall, but does not start running again. The outburst... she will have to explain it. She will have to tell Heather, and the father to whose legacy she could never live up to.

Mother would have a lot to say about running away from mistakes.

She should go back and face them. It's the right thing to do, but she can't bring herself to do so. Instead she sits down, and wraps her hands around her knees.

+Do you need help, Phyla-Vell?+ a voice asks in her mind. It's not Heather.

She looks up, and sees a wooden face.

“I-I don't know what to do,” she says quietly. “I did something horrible, and... and I don't think... He'll hate me.”

There is no judgement in the gaze of the cotati. So, she tells them about Genis, about the horrible things mother did and how she had helped. That she told him he was a failure, because that was what her mother had told her, and that even later, she had told him the same again. That she had not helped, that she had not wanted to help.

+You were a child,+ the cotati says. +You did what you had to do to survive. But now your eyes are open. You know wrong and right.+

“I do,” Phyla says in a small voice. “And I shouldn't run away from it. If... If my father hates me, then it's because I deserve it.”

She picks herself up slowly, gathering her resolve when the cotati speaks again, +Or he will not hate you for a mistake you regret making.+

Phyla is not that all convinced, but she heads back towards the clearing nonetheless.


	7. I have a tale to tell / Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well

Mar-vell, being definitely himself, tries not to lean on Heather too much, as they walk, so Heather says rather waspishly, “Just because you just came back to life, it doesn't mean I'm going to let you go all 'oh I don't want to be any trouble, I'm going to suffer in silence' like some sort of martyr.”

“I'm just winded, and not an invalid,” Mar-vell replies in an exasperated tone.

Heather does not get to tell him that she doesn't believe him, and he's going to get scanned as soon as she's sure Phyla is fine, because her lover shows up again, her face wet with tears, streaked with dirt, but showing the cold determination of someone about to face an execution.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. “It... It's about Genis.”

Heather finds herself rather nonplussed. She does recall—somewhat vaguely, because she had been preoccupied with Marlo, and with Adam Magus's attempts at possessing her—that Phy had made some not entirely pleasant comments to Genis, or about him, but they were siblings. It's what siblings do, as far as she knows.

Phyla starts to explain, and slowly it dawns on Heather just why her lover had not wanted her mother to know that she is alive. Or that it had been something far less innocent than sibling's fighting.

“I hated him,” Phyla says. “He ran away, and I had to be the responsible one, and he had adventures, and girlfriends, and... and then it seemed like he grew up, but then he snapped, and...” She stumbles over her words. “And I sat on Titan with everyone else. I didn't think of finding him, and helping him. I didn't want to—I thought that...” She swallows. “I told him he was a failure. And I helped mother, when she... He begged her to stop. She said she'd help him, she got Eros to help her, but all she did was hurt him, because he wasn't how she wanted him to be.”

Phyla looks at her feet and adds quietly, “And I never told anyone that she made sure he'd never ask anyone for help again, no matter how much he needed it."

There's also a thousand other things that Heather thinks—Mentor could not have really known; what in the world was Eros thinking, he's an empath; why hadn't anyone asked her, she's the telepath; how do I tactfully tell Mar-vell he will break my shoulder soon; damn it Genis-vell, how come there's always trouble where you are involved?

“You reminded me of him,” Phyla adds, looking at Mar-vell. “You don't really look like either of us, but... when you were looking up at me… I… I saw something I had never wanted to see again. To even think of again.”

Mar-Vell detaches himself from Heather and reaches for his daughter, and when she does not move away, puts a hand on her shoulder. “It was not your fault. I do not blame you.”

“But how… He is dead now, he will never meet you and if I had not helped with all this, he might still be alive. Why do I get to meet you, and be forgiven and my brother…” Phyla is crying again, sobs shaking her so hard her breath hitches in her throat. The guilt that smothers her is like a physical pain to Heather’s telepathic senses.

She wants to reach out and support Phyla, but Mar-Vell is steadying her and she clings to him and cries into his shoulder. “Phyla”, he says, his voice soft, yet piercing, “Genis is alive.”

It takes her several frantic heartbeats to process this revelation. Heather gasps. And Phyla faints dead away. Heather has to catch them both with her mind’s grip, because the sudden weight unbalances Mar-Vell. With her help, he settles down on his knees, holding the young woman and stroking her hair.

Before Heather can suggest getting up and going to her ship, Phyla stirs again.

“She lied,” she whispers in a dead voice. “Mother said he died. That he was a failure and that’s why he died.”

Mar-vell just holds her tightly, stroking her hair. Heather puts her hand on his shoulder and feels the tension in him. With the clinical detachment that a part of her always manages, no matter how terrible the situation, she also notes he does not defend Elysius at all. Still, Heather has been to Titan, she has had contact with Elysius and she never had any doubt that the other woman was convinced her son was dead. Even if Elysius’s ways of dealing with grief might not have been healthy. Still that’s not the point here. Mentor also never doubted that information… Never mind that Genis’s presence was very distinct and Heather had often felt him even from far away. But never since his supposed death.

“I don't understand,” Heather asks. “Genis disappeared from the face of the universe. If he's alive, then where was he?”

“Darkforce dimension,” Mar-vell replies.

“Oh flark.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Heather takes over again, pleading, cajoling, nagging them to finally get going, to follow her to her ship so she can check Mar-vell’s physical state. And get him under a shower. She also says that out loud, causing Phyla to laugh despite her state of shock. When they say something smells like somebody died in it? They aren’t exaggerating, as she knows from experience.

Her lover makes her sit down, puts a cup of something hot into her hands and finally gets on with an examination of a surprisingly unprotesting Kree warrior. Then, while she broods over the readings, cross-referencing with her database, Mar-vell takes a shower and emerges, wearing only a towel. Without missing a stride, Heather tosses him her bathrobe.

“OK, good news first.”

She sets down another steaming mug – there’s some sort of Titanian tea blend in it, a soothing mixture, Phyla guesses.

“You are cured. The cancer is gone from your body. I don’t know how exactly, but it looks to me like some sort of microsurgery on a cellular level, so I guess you will feel sore for a while.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s a sunny planet, I’ll recover in a few minutes.”

Heather shakes her head, while Phyla watches entranced, like this is something that does not concern her. The tea doing its job, she guesses, as she hesitatingly gets up and puts her hand on her father’s shoulder.

“Actually, that is the not really good news. I wouldn’t advise you to do that.” She raises her hand imperiously to ward off questions. “According to the medical files the main reason they couldn’t cure you were the negabands. The photonic energies they transferred to your body enabled it to fight off the cancer for a long time – but once it succumbed, the energies infused the cancerous cells, too. And made them impervious to therapy.” She looks at them both, imperiousness giving way to concern. “If the cancer ever recurs, adding photonic energy to your body again will almost certainly be fatal.”

“But you said he is cured,” Phyla protested. She didn’t even want to think about this possibility.

Trust Heather to be relentless, though. “He is. Right now, all his cells are perfectly healthy and fine. But cancer isn’t a virus. It isn’t an outside element. It’s a damage to the replication process of a body’s cells and this damage can occur at any time. I think the risk is too great. You have a chance now. Take off the negabands, before you actually infuse your body with photonic energy again, and even if something bad happens, it will likely be treatable.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The negabands sit on the table, drawing the light. For the first time, Phyla realises how much they look like shackles, thick and heavy. All that’s missing is a chain connecting them. Her father is looking at them with an inscrutable face, while Heather massages his wrists with an aromatic salve. Her expression and movements are business-like while Mar-vell ignores her and stares at the bands he had worn for so long.

As far as Phyla knows, he was even buried with them.

Finally, he looks up and faces her. “I promised Genis not to be stupid,” he says softly, managing something resembling a rueful smile. “Keeping them would have been.”

Phyla bites her lip. She does not know what to say or do.

She has never known anyone to give up power so quickly, so easily. Even she, who never really wanted or enjoyed being a superhero and only did it because of a feeling of duty, towards her father, and later towards Wendell and the Guardians, mourned the loss of the Quantum bands.

Maybe, just maybe she is beginning to see what everyone has seen in her father? What made him so different from all the many, many costumed guys running around the universe.

“Phy?”

“Hm?”

“You are staring.”

“Sorry.” She blushes and looks away.

“I don’t mind if you look”, says Mar-vell gently. “You never saw me before.”

Phyla swallows and decides to change the topic. “How is Genis?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious what Phyla is talking about when it comes to Elysius and Genis, you can simply check out issue 18 of the Captain Marvel series from 2002-2004.


	8. The secret I have learned, 'till then / It will burn inside of me

Later, Phy and Heather sat outside of her ship on a boulder, wrapped in a blanket and watched the stars, while Mar-vell slept. Without the photonic energy to sustain him, he needs food and sleep, both things that he is rather unused to. In the end, it took another cup of Moondragon’s soothing tea to make him finally rest.

And although Phyla was reluctant to leave him, she could not really deny Heather the chance to finally confront her about her confession.

“Ask”, she finally says, her voice rough.

“No.” Heather shakes her head. “I am not going to press you. I am also not going to judge, given that I am the last person in this universe who should judge anyone based on their personal sins.”

“But you didn’t torture your brother.”

Heather shakes her head. “No, given I do not have a brother. But I killed my father. I used my powers to mindcontrol someone into my bed. I have done heinous things, Phy.”

“That wasn’t you? That was the Dragon of the Moon.”

“And where did the dragon start and I end? How much of it was simply what I wanted and the Dragon merely gave me the means to do it?” Moondragon raises her hands. “I did make my peace with what I have done. And I suggest you do too.”

“How can you be so cold?” Phyla feels hot tears stream down her face, tears held in far too long. “I can’t ever undo what I did. It’s not that it is worse than what you did or whoever did. That’s not the point. The point is, I did this. And I wasn’t justifying. It wasn’t ‘that’s wrong, but I want it anyway, so fuck right or wrong’. I… I… wanted it. I thought it was right. I didn’t see what I was doing.”

Heather wraps her arms around her and strokes her back gently. “But you do now.”

“Yes. But only now. How can I ever trust anything I do, if I did this? How can I ever trust my judgement again? And how can I face my brother, and see how much suffering I caused him?”

“You can, because you will. Because you know it’s right now and that you cannot run away from it. Because that isn’t who you are.”

“You don’t know who I am. Not even I do. And I have run away ever since and I can’t see myself stopping.” Phyla extricates herself from Heather’s embrace and wipes her face on her sleeve. “I love you.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Heather watches her intensely. “None of that. I know you are thinking of running away so you won’t have to face what happened.”

When Phyla raises her hands in protest, she cuts her off. “I don’t need to read your mind. I see it in your eyes. It was there already on Knowhere and I see it now. That’s not a solution. I love you, too, Phy, more than my life, and that is why I won’t let this destroy us. Destroy you.”

“I don’t see any way you can do that.”

“There is one.” She puts a hand under Phyla’s chin. “You say you can’t understand why you did what you did, when it was so clearly wrong. But I can find out. I can look in your head and find out why you did it, and then you can face that and put it behind you.”

The Kree girl lowers her head. “You will hate me when you see what is in there.”

“I could never hate you.”

“You already know what you will find.” Phyla may be devastated, but she is not stupid. “If you did not read my mind, and I think I could tell if you had, then you can’t know I’m not… evil. Unless this does make sense to you in a way it does not to me.”

“I can guess, yes.” Moondragon kisses away her lover’s tears. “But I dislike diagnosis by – even educated – guesses.”

“Then do it. And if you hate me afterwards… Well, I guess then you won’t mind me running away.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Heather does not protest anymore. Instead, she kisses Phyla on the forehead and goes in.

And educated guess, she called it. It has not been a guess. She does not read minds unasked. Ok, not the minds of her friends. But she cannot stop herself from reading emotions, and even without her powers, Phyla’s emotions were an open book since her outburst.

Guilt, fear, and more guilt. Layers upon layers, like onions. Guilt at what she did. Guilt at even talking about it. Guilt at having allowed the mere thought of doubt.

She wraps her arms around her lover as she goes for the coil of barbed wire that symbolises the one memory that is worse than everything else. Even touching it makes Heather’s hands bleed. It is a memory of such raw intensity, such burning agony that it has been hidden away and buried in a way that makes even looking for it, jostling it, slightly hazardous.

Moondragon burnes away the wire, and tears out the barbs.

_We made you, and we can break you._

She feels Phyla scream in her arms, but she dives in anyway. Sometimes she hates it when she is right. 

 

* * *

 

 

Afterwards, they are both crying. “I am sorry, I’m so sorry.” Heather strokes Phyla’s hair and cradles her in her arms like a child.

She did her best to cocoon the memory again, this time in silk and fog, so it would be hard to find, and no longer the barb lodged in a raw wound. But the pain will not go away so easily. That will take time. She will do her best to heal it, she swears to herself.

“Shhh… It’s alright. It’s ok.”

The Kree turns her tearstained face towards Moondragon. Her lips are bleeding where she bit herself. “It will never be ok. Never, ever.”

“Oh, it will. You survived. You can heal. You survived, that is all that is important.”

Phyla cannot stop sobbing, so Heather continues to rock her gently and whisper soothing nonsense until the younger woman has exhausted herself.

At some point, she realises they are no longer alone, but she does not look up. She can do without Mar-vell’s scrutiny right now, especially since she is not exactly comfortable with her own decision, the risk she took. She is still convinced it was necessary, if Phyla was to ever find even a modicum of peace, but at some point, she might have to learn a softer touch.

It is only when the girl is finally asleep, that Heather looks up and seeks Mar-vell’s gaze. She says nothing, because something tells her she will not like the answer. Instead, she allows the Kree to take the sleeping girl from her arms and carry her back to the ship.

“Mar-vell? When she wakes, tell her I was right.”

“That’s always the important part for you, isn’t it?” He doesn’t look at her. “Maybe it’s a good thing they never asked you for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will be posting Interlude: Starfox soon, so you can find out what happened to Eros.
> 
> EDIT: Chapter One of Interlude: Starfox is up.


	9. So let mercy come and wash away / What I've done

When Heather enters the ship again after sunrise, she finds Mar-vell sitting by Phyla’s bed, holding her hand. He looks up at her, and the anger is gone from his eyes, replaced by resignation.

“I’m sorry”, she says softly, “Please believe that I would never intentionally hurt Phyla.” When he does not say anything, she continues. “What happened with Genis was going to break her, if she could not make sense of it. She asked me to do it.”

Mar-vell is silent still. He places his hand on Phyla’s brow, gently stroking her head.

Heather sighed. “Are you going to give me the silent treatment forever?” When no answer was forthcoming, she began to clean up the clutter in the living area and wash the dishes.

She is still at it, when she feels a psychic summons. There is a sense of desperate urgency and real pain to it, but once she follows it and manages to connect to the mind that sent it, she sighs.

Eros, reaping what he sowed, although probably not in the way he intended. It seems the Kree might demand a bit more by way of an apology than a show of contrition. Or rather, intend to enforce it. Still, she was half of a mind of letting him stew – he got himself into this situation, after all. Those with her might be more inclined to mercy though… 

 

* * *

 

 

Phyla is awake now, softly talking to Mar-vell, who still holds her hand and she makes no move to withdraw. The stab of jealousy Heather feels makes her almost forget why she has gone to talk to them. Very mature, Moondragon, she chides herself, and pushes thoughts of unfairness, wasted chances and thieves away—neither of them has done anything wrong.

She knocks on the door frame to get their attention and in a business-like tone says, “Sorry to disturb you, but I received a psychic distress call from Eros.” Phyla's attention turns to Heather, and so, unlike Moondragon, she doesn’t notice that Mar-vell's jaw clenches at the mention of Eros. “He is in Kree space, on a world called Equivox which apparently is just a few hours from here, otherwise he likely could not have reached me.”

For a second, Phyla looks confused, then she nods. “He went there to apologise? I thought he’d be done with that by now.”

Heather shakes her head. “Apparently not. And apparently, the Kree thought that merely saying ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to be enough so they sentenced him to stand on a pillory for three days and are pelting him with rotten stuff.”

Phyla looks rather shocked, and turns to her father for confirmation.

“Some of the border worlds still do that”, Mar-vell nods. “It’s considered barbaric by others, but those people don’t believe in community service. I don’t think they really will harm him, beyond his pride.” There is still that hard note to his voice. He obviously has not forgotten the role Eros played in the events Phyla recounted.

In the privacy of her mind, Heather once again marvels at just how much of an idiot Eros can be, and just how much trouble Genis can cause without even being present. The older she grows, the more convinced she is that most men need nannies and written instructions on how not to cause a mess of gigantic proportions for someone infinitely more sensible to clean up.

But Phyla still looks worried, so Heather adds, “No, probably not, although they apparently are bending the rules that forbid direct physical contact with the prisoner a bit and the girls he … shamed are getting a bit enthusiastic about taking out their displeasure on him.” Heather shrugs. “He’ll still survive, even a Kree girl can’t really hurt an Eternal, but he might need someone to pick him up afterwards. At least he is begging me to do that.”

Had it been up to her, and only her, she'd just block Eros, but she is not the only person present and should not decide for Phyla or Mar-vell. She looks to them, waiting for their choice. Mar-vell activates his cosmic awareness, apparently to check her appraisal of the situation, but Phyla nods.

“Can we do that? He should apologise. He shouldn’t be beaten up. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Her voice is trembling a bit.

“Do it.” Her father nods and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You and Heather, go and make sure he suffers no permanent injury. I will wait here. I’ll be fine, Carol is only a few hours away. We can keep in contact, but I cannot contact them—they do not have a telepath.”

“Don't you want to see him again?” Phyla asks, uncertain. “I thought you were friends.”

“I thought that as well,” Mar-vell says. “It seems I saw what I wanted to see, and not what was actually there.” Then, before either of them can comment on the bitterness in his voice, he continues, “Besides, I am a traitor to the Kree—if I show up, I'd only complicate the situation more. Go.”

“We have enough time for you to change,” Heather replies, arching her eyebrows and looking pointedly at her bathrobe.

If she hoped that would embarrass or faze Mar-vell, she gets disappointed. He simply nods.

  

* * *

 

 

Heather and Phyla leave the room, but Mar-vell does not immediately change into the clothes his uncle left him with. He watches them without really seeing them, as his mind turns over all of that he learned between the short time on Hala and now. He thinks of Eros, and of Elysius, and wonders how he could have been so wrong.

But the answer is easy. He wanted to, because he was tired and lonely, and now his children are paying for his mistake. At least it is not too late. For a moment, he feels a twinge of something that might have been foresight, or just a guilty conscience. He can still help.

A few minutes later, Mar-vell vanishes into the undergrowth, and Heather and Phyla are on their way. 

 

* * *

 

 

“What happened to letting the universe think you are dead?” Heather asks, as she programs the course for Equivox.

Phyla looks out through the viewport, and shakes her head. "There is no point anymore. The secret is out. And now we all have to learn to live with it."

When Heather does not accept the answer, Phyla adds, "Besides, I already hurt one person who I should have protected. I won't let another suffer while I can prevent it."

Heather thinks of the things she could say—that usually older siblings protect the younger ones, or that both Eros and Genis are adults, and at least in theory should be capable of protecting themselves. But as irritated as she is, she does realize that she is being uncharitable.

Because she'd been busy, and failed to see a number of things under her nose. Because it's easier to be irritated with others than admitting her mistakes.

“It’s going to be fine,” she says instead, as she reaches out to Eros again. He seems to be in the same state she has left him—upset and uncomfortable. +We’re coming.+

There is no verbal answer only a sense of exhausted gratitude.

Phyla, on the other hand, does not appear to be reassured. “My father may have forgiven me, but what about Genis?”

Heather’s first instinct is to promise that she will scramble Genis’s brain so badly he won’t even remember what fingers are called, if he’s anything but forgiving, but there’s being supportive and then there’s being over-protective.

“I’ll be there for you no matter what,” she says. “And let Genis decide if he will forgive you or not. It will help neither of you, if you make up your mind that he won’t before you’ve talked.”

Phyla sits in tense silence for seconds and then nods. “Besides, let’s worry about one thing at a time,” she says. “Easy things first—we get Eros, tell him the good news and then we can move to the hard stuff, right?”

Surely, whatever the universe intends to throw at them can’t be worse than the Phalanx or Cancerverse. If things get ugly, then they can both handle a few Kree soldiers.

Heather nods as much to her thoughts as to her lover’s words, and Phyla turns to watch the unnamed desert planet fade into the darkness.

  

* * *

 

 

Somewhere in hyperspace, Heather’s thoughts are interrupted with another urgent call from Eros, accompanied by an intense flash of pain. She tries to answer and realises he is unconscious. +Eros? Eros?+ She bites her lip. Has she been too cavalier?

Then he is back, his head ringing, and she feels the taste of blood in her mouth. +Eros?+ Another flash of pain. Whoever is causing those, must be strong enough to hurt Eros for real, because she just felt a bone break and she shares his emotions, pain, disorientation and mounting panic, mixed with defiance and desperation.

_“Where is the traitor Mar-vell buried?” It’s a female voice, Kree accent, the tone hard and even, without emotion._

They know. Heather gasps. But Eros does not, and right now, his only chance is probably that he convinces them of having no idea that Mar-vell is no longer buried on Titan. So, she grits her teeth, and stays inside his head, and waits. It has to look good. It has to look convincing. The question is repeated twice more, and she almost loses contact with him, as he continues to black out, body shattering under blows that would pulverise buildings.

+Tell her. I will warn Mentor.+ +No, I… I’m not…+

Men and their idiotic pride. +Tell her, or she will beat you to death. Mar-vell is dead, and they won’t start a war with earth over a dead traitor’s body. Tell her.+

The lie comes easy to her and for a moment she wonders what that makes her. Then she hears him gasp out the answer and breaks the connection. It’s unlikely the Kree have a telepath, but staying in contact is a risk. And if everybody here is being emotional, she has to follow logic. She wipes blood from her nose as Phyla stares at her.

“We have to hurry up. Time is running out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, last chapter of Interlude: Moondragon. The story will continue in Interlude: Starfox.


End file.
